


in the muddy water [we're falling]

by blademontrose



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Vikings (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Fraternity, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bucky has the patience of a saint, Bucky knows russian, Eventual Smut, First Time, Fluff, Frat Boy Bucky, Ivar is extremely different from his vikings persona here, Librarian Ivar, M/M, Shy Ivar, Virgin Ivar, WinterBoneless, and she can do what she wants, because blade is the author, bucky is a closet Star Wars nerd, but we're gonna ignore that, but who cares, everyone is very ooc, ivar has a stutter, ivar is a really big nerd, margrethe is a great wing woman
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2019-02-17 15:17:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13079664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blademontrose/pseuds/blademontrose
Summary: "don’t fail me now / put your arms around me and pull me out / oh, i know I'm found / with your arms around me, oh, save me now..."Two boys. One broken. One lost.





	in the muddy water [we're falling]

**Author's Note:**

> Title inspired by "Muddy Waters" by LP. Go check out that song guys, it's fantastic. I sincerely hope you guys all enjoy this. 
> 
> also: go check me out on Tumblr @bookybuns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They dance in tandem, as one sexy entity. Ivar's completely oblivious to the sex appeal he's oozing as he forgets his inhibitions for a few moments. It's almost as if he's a completely new person. Margrethe can't help but be proud of him for a moment.

The flashing lights inside the Sigma Delta Phi fraternity house nearly blind Ivar as he clutches at Margrethe's purse strap, stumbling behind her as she pushes through the heavy, tipsy crowd without so much as a care as to whom she pushes to the side. Her neatly curled, white blonde hair swishes side to side, threatening to smack Ivar in the face if he steps any closer into her personal space. He's nearly a foot taller than his petite best friend, but with the way she navigates him through the mass sea of strangers, he feels oddly smaller than her. She leads him into the kitchen, which is blessedly less crowded than the rest of the house. She pushes him to sit on the floor, beautiful face pinched in worry. 

Margrethe shoves a water bottle in his hand, taking off his fogged up glasses as he gulps it down. "I'm surprised you've lasted this long." she notes, cleaning his lenses on the edge of her shirt.  She slides them back on his face gently, sighing softly with a smile. "You doing okay, Ivar?" 

"D-de-define okay." he snarks back as best as he can under the anxiety threatening to choke him, nuzzling his cheek against the softness of her stomach. She tugs the tie from his hair, running perfectly manicured nails over his scalp in an attempt to calm him.

"We can leave, if you need to." she tells him. He just shakes his head, attempting a smile. 

"I'm f-fine, Mar." he presses. "Just needed a br-breather."

She lets him sit for a moment before tugging at his hair gently, smiling like the cat who got the cream. He raises an eyebrow questioningly, letting her pull him to his feet. "We're gonna go dance. And you're gonna _like_ it."

"B-but I can-n't fucking d-dan-dance!" Ivar splutters, indignant. 

"Don't lie to me, boy." she rolls her eyes playfully, tapping his nose. "I've seen you move those sinful hips of yours."

She yanks him by the arm, dragging him through the doorway with a laugh, ignoring his pained wail. The deep bass of the music shakes his core as he watches Margethe fight for a place on the dance floor. She finds a place that isn't too claustrophobic, immediately wrapping her fingers in Ivar's belt loops to ensure he can't wriggle away. His face burns as Margrethe rolls her body in time to the music, clutching her hips nervously as he sways tentatively to the music.

"C'mon, Ivy," he scowls at the nickname, narrowing his eyes. "I know for a fact you can dance!"

"N-not in f-fr-front of all th-these goddamn _people_ , though." Ivar hisses. 

"Just _ignore_ them, Ivy." Margrethe instructs. "Pretend its just me and you at the apartment, dancing to Nick Jonas and drunk off cheap wine."

Ivar stifles a giggle at that, getting an image of a plastered Margrethe wearing a putrid green face mask, dancing around in nothing but one of his Game of Thrones shirts and a pair of his boxers under a baby pink robe, belting out lyrics at the top of her lungs. She beams at him, nodding in approval when he lets the beat guide him, willing his body to relax and enjoy the environment he's in. 

"There we go." she approves. "Have some fun for once."

Ivar dips his head back, hips gyrating in a hypnotizing dance as he works Margrethe against him. They dance in tandem, as one sexy entity. Ivar's completely oblivious to the sex appeal he's oozing as he forgets his inhibitions for a few moments. It's almost as if he's a completely new person. Margrethe can't help but be proud of him for a moment.

She looks around for a moment, catching a glimpse of a boy leaning against the wall across the room. His eyes are trained solely on Ivar, not paying her any mind, tracking his every move with dark, hungry eyes. The stranger's attractive enough, she supposes, wearing a tight white dress shirt that stretches across a broad, defined chest. His hair is dark, handing in wavy tendrils around his shoulders. She immediately decides he's Ivar's type.

Rising on her tiptoes, she grabs his attention. "There's a cute guy wanting to devour you. On your six."

As if she was expecting him to freeze, Margrethe keeps him dancing by the hold she has on his belt loops. He turns to look over his shoulder but she shakes her head. "Don't make it obvious, Ivy."

"I w-wanna see wh-wh-what he lo-l-look-ks like." Ivar tells her. It takes all his self control to not crane his head around behind him like an owl. "Is-s he cu-cu-t-te?"

"Very." Margrethe giggles. "We're gonna turn, but don't make it look like we're doing it on purpose. And don't stare too obviously when you see him, okay?"

"Yes ma'am." Ivar breathes. The music cuts into a faster, more upbeat song, giving them the opportunity to circle so Margrethe's back is to the stranger. Ivar spots him immediately, blushing at the heat in his eyes. He catches Ivar looking, grinning impishly. He shoots him a wave, one that Ivar returns shyly. 

"He's gor-or-geous." Ivar has the sudden urge to hide, eyes dropping bashfully. His blue eyes are wide behind the frames of his glasses, and Margrethe remembers how little experience he has with this kind of thing. She thinks for a moment, eyebrow furrowed in thought. Her face lights up when he bites his lip out of nerves, grinning triumphantly.

"W-wh-what?" he asks. 

"Bite your lip like that again, and look at him from underneath your lashes." Margrethe says urgently. "Play off your shyness."

Ivar tries to do what she says, feeling imbecilic as he glances timidly at the stranger. His eyes immediately fall to the pout of Ivar's mouth, running his tongue over his own. He every so slowly brings his gaze back to Ivar's face, expression scorching as he pushes off the wall. He stalks confidently their way, and Ivar squeaks quietly, an urgent noise that grabs Margrethe's attention. 

"What is it?" she asks.

"H-he's com-m-ming this wa-ay!" Ivar sucks in a nervous breath, wanting nothing than to turn tail and flee. He watches anxiously as the stranger presses through the crowd, determination steeling his features. 

"That's a good thing!" Margrethe cheers. 

"N-no!" Ivar screeches indignantly, voice rising an octave. "I do-don't know h-h-how to talk to b-bo-boys!"

"You sound like a five-year-old girl." Margrethe chastises. "You better figure it out, because he's right there."

She slips from his arms, shooting him a two fingered salute as she disappears into the crowd. Dejectedly, Ivar watches her go, wanting to grab a fistful of her hair and drag her back to him. A finger taps him on the shoulder, and it takes all Ivar has not to flinch and run after his best friend. Holding his breath, he turns, finding the hot stranger smiling down at him.

"H-hi." Ivar greets, blushing. He looks down at his worn boots, fingers playing with the hem of his sweater. 

"Hi, sweetheart." he looks vaguely amused by Ivar's flustered demeanor. "I'm Bucky."

"B-buck-ky." Ivar repeats, the syllables broken. "I-I'm Iv-var."

"You're a shy little thing, Ivar." Bucky notes. "It's cute."

Cue the schoolgirl giggle. Ivar wants to punch himself in the face He shouldn't be this affected by a guy he doesn't even know. But it's been so long since he's been noticed by anyone. 

_Take the opportunity and run with it, Ivy._ He hears Margrethe's honeyed voice in his head, sees her encouraging eyes urging him to take the plunge. Taking a deep breath, he smiles, holding out a hand to Bucky in a brave attempt to take what he wants. 

"W-want t-to dance wi-th-th me?" he stutters out the question, praying to whatever god was listening to give him some luck. He was a blind man navigating a live mine field when it came to things like this. He's pleasantly surprised when Bucky slips his warm hand into Ivar's, tugging the boy into his embrace. Bucky holds him gently by the hips, giving him the chance to break away if he needed to.

"I'd love to dance with you, sweetheart."

* * *

* * *

Ivar creaks open an eye at the movement on his bed, finding a very energetic, very optimistic Margrethe perched over his tired form. She's grinning like a Disney villain, and Ivar groans, closing his eyes as he bats at her halfheartedly. She giggles like the nuisance she is, sitting on his chest and poking at his nose.

"Ma-ar," Ivar croaks. "Go _away_."

"Did you get laid last night?" 

Never did Margrethe claim to possess any bit of subtlety. When she's eager to know something, she doesn't hesitate to go straight for the kill, tact be damned. 

"Go away!" Ivar cries. She rises on her knees only to plop back down on his chest, forcing the air out of his body as he wheezes. "Margrethe Alv-va Godfrey!"

"Ivar Beinlausi Lothbrok!" she yells in return, smirking. He glares at her, reluctantly reaching for his glasses to see her better. "I wanna know what happened last night! You didn't come home until after I did!"

He sits up, groggily scrubbing a hand down his face as she situates herself comfortably in his lap. Yawning, he pinches her side in retaliation for the rude wake up call. She squeals, swatting at his bare chest. "Did you get laid last night?" she repeats again. "I don't see any hickies, mister. I'm disappointed."

"Only you would be dis-sappointed at that." Ivar rolls his eyes. 

"I was hoping you'd score." Margrethe pouts.

"Well," Ivar sighs. "I didn't."

"But you came home late." Margrethe points out. "What were you doing?"

" _Talking_ to him." Ivar stresses the word. "That's all w-we did."

"Did you at least get his number?"

Ivar shakes his head, and Margrethe's pout deepens. "You're no fun, mister."

"I'm aw-ware, woman. I'm aw-ware." 

 

 


End file.
